


The Lost Prince’s Lullabies

by theyawningeye



Category: Fire Emblem Three Houses
Genre: Dimitri Alexandre Bailddyd Needs a Nap, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd Needs a Hug, Fire Emblem: Blue Lions, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Let them be happy!, Mentioned Blue Lions Students (Fire Emblem), Other, fire emblem: three houses - Freeform, my children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22179241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theyawningeye/pseuds/theyawningeye
Summary: Dimitri hasn’t slept for ages, a certain professor and the Blue Lions conjure up a plan to let him rest.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Blue Lions Students
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	The Lost Prince’s Lullabies

**Author's Note:**

> (set after chapter 17) after Rodrigue’s death and Dimitri smiling again (whew, we did it, folks!) He has flashbacks and gloominess here though, BUT he finds a small slice of rest, whatever that might actually mean for him. Anyways, I was struggling with sleep just like our son Dimitri here. I hope you guys rest. Go rest, come on!  
> —Jo

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd had forgotten what it was like to sleep.

Instinctively, he reached for the curtains in his assigned dormitory space only to find his fingers touching air—the absence of a memory as stark as the hatred flooding within him.

Five years, Dimitri gritted his teeth. It’s been five years since his body rested.

His body because that was what he had stayed in the Officer’s Academy for—to strengthen and to feed his appetite for vengeance. His mental state was dissociated and foggy ever since _that_ incident.

He cursed himself, and cursed the day he was brought into this world.

_You’re getting sloppy, you boar._

He could remember Felix’s sharp tone.

 _But please you must get some rest, Your Highness_.

Dedue’s worried eyes.

_Let me make you a remedy that might help you rest, Dimitri._

Mercedes’ gentle smile.

He could remember Ashe’s fond compliments that he felt undeserving of, and always replied by complimenting the brave knight-of-sorts for never forgetting to keep one foot, if not both in Ashe’s case, in the light.

Sylvain’s ways did not change, even with Dimitri‘s internal crisis and mood swings. He kept baiting Dimitri into spending time with girls, trapping him in awkward situations only to be saved by the plotter himself. Sylvain kept challenging him by making promises of becoming an upholder of better behavior, a new man, if Dimitri went out on a date.

Ingrid remained silent. Perhaps she too understood the ghosts of Duscar that kept them both awake at night.

Dimitri avoided the professor whenever he could, and when he was too exhausted to hide, he turned his back while the professor spoke. Growling _go away_ , every now and then. Sometimes pleading with a heavy inaudible voice too fast to make sense. He tried voicing his confession that he needed help because he was drowning—maybe he deserved to drown. Why did everyone die that day in Duscar while _he_ lived? Why did the Goddess show mercy on _him_?

Everything he held dear was now burning his hands.

_Did the goddess enjoy watching?_

He thought. Sometimes.

*

It was maddening—

This graveyard within him,

every night they dug a new hole for him to rot in—

 _Take your pick_ , the ghosts would muse.

He was a walking corpse,

But he was _still_ walking—

That had to mean something. Anything.

That had to atone for something.

He could sense the gaze of those he held dear,

holding him down with their lips moving—

but he could never make out what they were saying.

The water he was drowning in turned him mute and senseless

He was in too deep,

way in too deep to back out—

to give up.

He’d take his half-sister with him and drag her to the bottom.

He swore it on his life—what remained of it.  
  
*

His days blurred together, his palms were always itchy, begging to hold something.

Begging to wrap its fingers around Edelgard’s throat—and squeeze until that flicker of life went out.

 _The Fire Emperor_ , he laughed to himself, _a fitting end._

On rare days, he wondered why his step-sister, half-sister, turned out the way she is.

They’re not so different, yet so drastically different.

They all wanted vengeance and blood.

It was a pity they had to be on different ends of the sword.

But the thoughts would blur all together in red rage and anger until wrapping his hands around his lance was the only thing stopping him from bolting.

He spent five years forsaken by the goddess, and decent company. Bones were dull chatters.

He lived a time surrounded by friends and laughter, a moment of reprieve, a way for fate to taunt him.

But he was back to being alone, just like that day in Duscar as blood filled his boots and went up his knees.

Gilbert, _no_ Gustave who saved him that day ordered the servants to bathe him three times that night, while the smell of blood went off, the dirt under his nails wiped away, they couldn’t erase the darkness that had made him eerily quite. That had smothered the light in his eyes, and cooed him to live and find out what happened, to finally, lay his father, step-mother, Glenn, and suffering souls to rest.

_One day, I, too, shall fall._

He said as he sliced his enemies into half, butchered them, peeled off their eyes, and ravaged their mortal coils.

“Dimitri....” A voice anchored him back to the present.

“.....”

“Are you okay?”

His chest felt hollow, the shadows under his eyes were stinging, his right eye ached.

Yet—his expression remained blank. Like one of the sculptures that was stolen by the thieves during the fall of Garreg Mach Monastery.

One he took his time killing.

“I was.... remembering..”

“It’s time to forget.”

He whirled. Anger burning his edges. “I can’t forget—I can’t undo what has been done. I can’t move on, I can’t”

“It’s time to forgive yourself.” The voice sliced through. Solid. An anchor, indeed.

“And then what?” His eyes burned with pain and anguish, guilt and regret.

“Forgiving yourself may not erase the past, but it can rewrite the future.”

“Spare me the scripture.” He spat.

“I mean it.” The voice tugged at something inside him that he thought had long withered away. “I believe in the Dimitri that I love, the Dimitri that believes.”

“The Dimitri that you know is gone” He hesitated.

“I saw it.” The voice whispered. “We all saw it.”

Dimitri remained silent, though his hands were shaking.

“He brought you back, didn’t he?” The voice said, a thread of mischief woven. “He’s not so clueless as Felix claimed, he brought you back to your senses, knocked the wind off your head.”

“That, I daresay, he did.” A sad look appeared on his face.

He clenched and unclenched his jaw.

A hand rested on his shoulder.

He looked up and found his professor smiling at him—wearing that same achingly beautiful smile the day they met, the day they were saved, and the day the Blue Lions were chosen.

Goddess. Instructor. Master. Ally.

And the most important of them all,

a friend in every sense of the word.

*

His friends had the worst acting skills.

They tried to be subtle—but it was clear that they were relieved that the Dimitri they loved and cherished was back. Yet they didn’t disregard what he became—it wasn’t a mask, something that he took off like some part of an act. They knew it was skin deep. That what he became, that monster of rage and bloodlust was a beast within him. A beast that they wanted to stand with Dimitri as he lulled it asleep—lest it devoured him.

Mercedes was the first to greet him.

She shoved a teacup into his face, excitement dangling in her voice as she said. “Here you go! This tea can even make other teas rest if they get too weary.”

He uttered an expression of surprise. Then, curled his fingers around the fragile ear of the cup, and said. “I—thank you, I am grateful for your kindness.” His left hand shifted in front of him as he was about to bow, but was interrupted by her gasp. “Oh, is something the matter?” He tensed.

“Dimitri! The tea almost dripped your clothes as you were about to bow.” Her brows furrowed. “Please drink the tea before it gets cold, and tell me if it’s good. The professor told me it’s your favorite.” She gave a tiny laugh.

Sylvain popped in. “I grew up with His Highness and never saw him indulge in a relaxed conversation let alone a cup of tea!”

“Quite down, Sylvain.” Anette said as she took a bite of a biscuit while turning the page of a thick book with the same hand.

“Urrrrrrgh,” Sylvain rubbed the back of his head. “You guys need to learn how to take a joke.”

“You weren’t joking,” Felix curved an eyebrow. “You were merely stating facts, after all, a thirsty monster never rests.”

Ingrid was observing items laid out over a velvet pillow, and looked up at Dimitri with a smile. “Your Highness! You owe me a match, remember?”

She saw Dimitri’s reaction and frowned. “I’ve gotten better and stronger, thanks to certain sparring partners,” at that Sylvain sighed, and Felix scoffed. “I’m certain this time I will win!”

Dimitri nodded. “I’m counting on you.”

Then Dedue walked in, bowed, while Ashe followed suit. Thus the Blue Lions began their frequent teasing of height differences and continued updating the well-renowned height chart with a five-years gap.

*

Dimitri settled down, and took a sip of his tea.

The warm aroma brought back its share of warm memories.

Between one sip and the other, he could almost swear he saw Byleth’s upside-down reflection on his drink.

Chamomile Tea.

It reminded him of home and gentleness, and something within him kneeled towards that feeling, the embrace—that perhaps now, too, he could go home and win back all he’s lost.

This time it wasn’t just for his sake, but for the sake of his friends circled around him right now, the chill winds turned into breezes in their company—the bickering and banter resumed, as though the last five years were mere five minutes.

He couldn’t remember what time it was exactly,

but he felt warmer hands peel the cup away, and handed him a new one—a bit too hot that he burned his tongue a little bit.

Maybe he should visit the Greenhouse tomorrow, search for a chamomile flower and wrap it around a thread—he could borrow a blue one from Mercedes’ sewing kit and send it to the Professor.

It would be better to pick flowers fresh from his birthplace, his true place, that he was now fighting for.

 _Faerghus_ , he whispered as though he was afraid to forget.

But that was for another time.

His head tipped back—

and the same warm pair of hands took the empty cup and whispered goodnight.

Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd dreamt of home for the first time.


End file.
